


Where The Heart Is

by tielan



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-04
Updated: 2001-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major Sam Carter of SG-1 was visiting the Pentagon on September 11th, 2001. As the day goes on and they don't hear from her, her team have to face the possibility that she might not be coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where The Heart Is

The base is at code 9 alert status when the announcement comes that American Airlines Flight 77 has crashed into the Pentagon.

The world around them grinds to a halt.

In the already-hushed briefing room, the silence is abruptly deafening.

Hammond looks at Jack. Teal’c looks at Daniel. Daniel looks at Jack. Jack looks at Daniel.

_Oh God._

The Pentagon.

Where Sam is.

Two strides takes Jack to the phone, and he stabs in the number for her pager with tense fingers.

Fifteen breathless seconds pass. Then everyone jumps as he slams down the phone, “If no service is available, does that mean there’s something up with the pager, or the lines are too busy?” He demands of the room in general.

Nobody is going to answer him.

Only Daniel can speak through the prickle of sudden pain. Not Sam, too. Not _Sam_. “It could be either, Jack.”

“It could be _either_?”

“Jack… The lines will be humming right now… everyone wants to be sure that their loved ones are alive…” _Including us_.

“Where did the plane crash?” Jack demands, and strides over to the television. “Which wing is it?”

Major Davis shakes his head, “It wouldn’t matter, Colonel. With the attacks this morning, personnel would have been everywhere: meetings, labs, offices – all over the place. Major Carter could have been anywhere.” His voice reflects his anger. It was a stroke of luck for him that he was at Cheyenne Mountain when the attack came, or else he might have been one of the people stumbling out of the wreckage of the Pentagon building now.

He might have been one of the dead.

Sam might be one of the dead.

  
  



Two hours later, and they still haven’t heard from Sam.

All personnel have been assigned tasks, whether it’s locking down all items on base, taking inventory of the arsenal in the event of another strike or a secret attack, or going through the Stargate to recall all SG-teams presently off-world.

As the 2IC of the base, Jack’s in the briefing room, sorting through the incoming reports and lists. The restless energy that is his trademark has been heightened by the tension from the bombing. Daniel stops at the briefing room door to watch his edgy friend for a moment. As he does so, he considers.

Jack’s a soldier and has been for most of his life. His whole career has been dedicated to avoiding this very tragedy from occurring. He’s been trained to serve his country, protect the innocent, defend the weak. Fight on foreign fronts to ensure that the war will never come home. Today is one of the hardest days for any military person to handle.

This attack is a slap in the collective face of everyone who’s served the USA in the military. _You have served for nothing._

As a result, the base is tense. Add to that the concern for Sam…

Behind Jack, standing at the window to the gateroom, Teal’c observes and guards, a quiet mountain of a man whose thoughts are opaque until he lets you see them, and whose devotion is unquestioned. It is a much simpler thing for Teal’c to accept. While he has adopted the USA, he has not absorbed it. He appreciates it, and is angry that the innocents are being used as pawns to escalate this crisis, but it isn’t ideological for him.

And Daniel? Daniel’s mostly just worried about Sam.

In his hands crackle the reports he was sent to do: background research on the history of the Afghanistan government over the last hundred years. Not quite archaeology – although he still fumes at the thoughts of the stone Buddhas defaced and destroyed by the idol-fearing Taliban – but closer to his area of expertise than cataloguing how many staff weapons and _zat_ guns they have.

The red phone on Hammond’s desk rings and the General goes to answer it. He shuts the door behind him so they cannot hear his words, only see his lips moving and the way his shoulders suddenly tense.

Then the door opens and the General comes out, “Colonel O’Neill, you’re needed in my office.”

Jack glances up from the reports coming in from all over the base – weapons, food supplies, inventory of all types and kinds. He stands and goes into the office.

The briefing room hushes, holding its collective breath as Jack picks up the phone.

Through the window, Daniel sees his friend listen to the voice speaking on the other end. Then he sees Jack go rigid, much as the General did. _It’s not about Sam,_ he tries to tell himself, _It wouldn’t be about Sam…not on the President’s phone…_ If only he could believe it…

A few moments later, Jack puts the phone down, and says something to the General, whose eyes show compassion even if his face is impassive. Sitting down at his desk, the General pulls out a form from a cabinet behind him and starts filling in blanks. He signs off the form and hands it to Jack, who takes it, and walks out. He pauses at the threshold of the abruptly noisy room and looks from Daniel to Teal’c. Then he goes down the stairs without a word.

Without a word, Daniel and Teal’c follow.

It’s not about Sam, Daniel is certain. If it was, there’d be so much more in Jack’s eyes than the cold emptiness he just saw.

Wouldn’t there?

Jack knows they’re coming. He’s stopped in the corridor, his back to the wall. His profile stares down at the paper in his hands.

“I’ve been called away,” Jack says tensely. “I’m to report to Bolling in four hours.”

Daniel looks into his friend’s eyes and then looks away, trying to hold back a shudder. He doesn’t want to know about the dark parts of Jack’s past. From the looks in Jack’s eyes, Jack doesn’t want to remember them either. But he has no choice. Orders are orders.

“How long will you be gone, O’Neill?”

“Don’t know. Three days…could be longer.” Three days of being _incommunicado_. Three days of not knowing if Sam was in the Pentagon or not, if she escaped or not. Not knowing if she’s lying with all the life and spirit and delight crushed out of her, burnt out of her…

_Don’t think that!_

But he can’t help it. Neither can Jack. The possibility is all too vivid in their imaginations.

“I gotta pack.” The older man turns on his heel and strides off down the corridor. Jack’s never been good with emotions, especially his own. He’ll let something tear him up internally long before he lets even a hint of turmoil reach the others around him. Which means that right now, he’s churning up his insides.

Teal’c looks at Daniel, then follows after Jack with unhurried strides. His quiet presence will reassure Jack as he collects himself together for whatever mission the government is about to send him off on.

Daniel hesitates, takes one step after his friend, then looks down at the reports still in his hands. _Damn. Gotta hand these in…_ He glances back along the corridor then turns and walks back up to the briefing room. Teal’c is there for Jack and Daniel will see Jack before he leaves.

Once he’s in the briefing room, he’s assaulted by questions and demands. People want to know what the message was about. Was it about Major Carter? Have they got any news? How is the Colonel taking it? Is she okay?

“The call wasn’t about Major Carter,” he tells them, but he won’t reveal any more. That’s the business of the General and of Jack. He’s lucky that his friend told him that much.

Someone asks about the reports he wrote, and after a moment, he’s involved in explaining about the history of the Taliban government and how they developed to the point of fanaticism that they are at today. Daniel’s first law of interaction with anything: know how they got to be where they are today. Archaeology is the roots of that.

It must be forty minutes later when the General touches him on the shoulder. “Colonel O’Neill is about to leave.”

Daniel makes his apologies to the fascinated analyst reading the report and follows the General to the lifts. Without a word, they ascend to the living quarters. Outside Jack’s room, Jack and Teal’c stand in silence neither companionable, nor uncomfortable.

“Ready to go, Colonel?”

“Ready, sir.”

Hammond holds out his hand, and Jack shakes it. Not a standard military farewell, but these two men have an unusual relationship for a commander and his subordinate.

They look into each others’ eyes and something passes between them – an acknowledgement of respect and affection. “Good luck, Jack.”

“Thankyou, sir.”

The General walks back along the hall and they hear the lifts take him back down into the base.

The three men of SG-1 face each other with so much unsaid. The woman who would make their group complete is missing, her location and status unknown. This makes the farewell even harder.

Daniel knows that Jack is seeing what he is: a woman lying dead, her blonde hair matted with blood, her face twisted beyond recognition from the debris that hit her upon impact. _Sam_.

It is Teal’c who breaks the silence at last. “Major Carter will be back soon.” The Jaffa speaks with a solemn certainty that punches through their visions of Sam lying burnt and broken amidst the wreckage of the Pentagon. “How shall we let you know that she is home, O’Neill?”

The two humans look at each other, wishing fervently for the belief that comes so certainly to the Jaffa. They don’t have it. But Teal’c does. Maybe it is enough.

“I’ll be at her place,” Daniel tells the older man, meeting Jack’s eyes. “When she gets home, I’ll change the message on her answering machine.” He deliberately used the world _when_ rather than _if_. “Call when you get back.”

Jack just nods. He picks up his duffel and one hand reaches out to touch Daniel’s shoulder.

“She’s _not_ dead, Danny-boy.” There’s a note of desperation in his voice as he speaks. “It’s not gonna end like this.”

In return, Daniel grips the other man’s shoulder tightly. There’s comfort and reassurance in the touch, but each is still aware of a horrible twisting in his stomach. _And if it does end like this? What then, Jack?_

There is no answer for either of them.

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Take care of yourself, Jack,” Daniel tells him.

Beside him, Teal’c stands straight and tall and quiet. “Return soon, O’Neill.” He places his hand over his heart and bows in solemn benediction on his friend. “Return home.”

Jack doesn’t say anything more, just walks down the corridor. At the corner, he turns, stops. His eyes silently meet Daniel’s. In both pairs of eyes, brown and blue, there is too much emotion for speech.

Daniel just nods to him, and Jack takes a deep breath and goes.

_Return home soon, Jack._

Home is where the heart is.

But without Sam, how whole will their hearts be?

  
  



Sam closes the door of her house, and leans her head against it.

It’s three in the morning, and she’s been awake for over twenty hours. A troop transport, returning empty to the Academy grounds brought her back from DC earlier, and she commandeered an airman to drive her home.

She just wants to crawl into her bed and sleep like there’s no tomorrow.

The tears crawl out from under her eyelids, inexorably. For Emma and Frank and Jimmy and Denise there will _be_ no tomorrow. No tomorrows of laughter and friendship, morning coffee and late-night cards. No tomorrows of meetings and reports, email jokes and office gossip. No more tomorrows. None.

Bastards. _Bastards!_ She hopes the dead terrorists are rotting in the lowest regions of hell. The ones reserved for creatures like Nero and Hitler and Apophis and Senator Kinsey.

She turns on the hallway light and is about to dump her duffel there, when a noise comes from her living room.

Suddenly tense, she flicks on the light-switch, hands raised to combat an intruder.

Instead of the expected stranger, she beholds Daniel and Teal’c. Their bedrolls are laid out across her floor, Daniel blinking up at her from one with owlish intensity, Teal’c regarding her from his meditative position on the other. It’s like they’re having a slumber-party on her living room floor.

_What the…?_ Then it occurs to her.

She never called home.

In all the chaos and the grief and the anger and the searching through the debris; in all the disbelief and the horror and the anguish and the memories; in all the media and the med-checks and the psych-checks and the tears; she never called home.

_You idiot, Sam!_

She left her pager on a friend’s desk the previous night before she went to the hotel. The next morning, while the Pentagon was abuzz with reports and assessments, tactical considerations and intelligence advisors, she was counselling a friend when the plane hit the building. For a moment, she thought the Goa’uld had come. The fear struck her so hard it left her without breath before the alarms went off and the frantic evac began. After that, she had no thought for anything but the people she knew who’d been caught up in the destruction.

“Sam?” Daniel’s groggy voice wafts up to her, his eyes open wide and he hauls himself upright. He nearly trips over the sleeping bag as he stands, and then he has to grab hold of the wall to overcome the temporary dizziness of the sudden change in position. It takes him a second or two, but he lunges for her, grabbing her into a hug that is no less fervent for his being half-asleep. “God, Sam, why didn’t you call us?”

She’s kicking herself now. So busy trying to hold everything together, so concerned with the people that she used to work with, so _focused_ on what was happening in DC and New York that she never gave a second thought to the people she knew were safe in Colorado Springs. She never once thought they’d be frantic with concern about her.

“Sorry, Daniel,” she tells his shoulder, guiltily. “I forgot…”

He pulls away from her, holding her at arms’ length, “You _forgot_?” There’s disbelief and anger in his voice – as well there might be.

“Daniel…” It’s a plea for temporary understanding. She’s tired and weary – they all are – and she’s mortified at having forgotten how much her friends care. “Can we go over it tomorrow?”

Blue eyes fix on her for a long moment, then he sighs and hugs her again, brief and hard. “I’m glad you’re okay, Sam.” In those words she hears all the pent up worry and frustration of the day. She won’t get off lightly tomorrow, but he won’t flame-grill her.

“Major Carter,” Teal’c regards her with his customary equanimity burnished with bright pleasure. “You are home.”

_Home_. The word has never sounded so good.

She manages a tremulous smile at him.

“I’m glad to be home, Teal’c.” The absence of the fourth member of her team suddenly swoops in on her and she looks around. “Where’s the Colonel?”

Daniel and Teal’c exchange glances and she feels her heart contract. _Jack._

“Where is he?”

  
  



Jack puts the quarters in the slot and punches in the number.

His hands aren’t shaking as he does so.

But his heart is.

The death toll is estimated at over ten thousand in New York City, and up to five hundred in the Pentagon.

Plus six men believed responsible for passing on the orders of that psychopath, Osama Bin Laden.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, he folded up his emotions, neat as linen, and packed them into a box in his mind. For what he was about to do, he couldn’t afford the luxury of feelings. Not satisfaction that he’d be killing some of the bastards responsible. Not vengefulness that he’d be able to retaliate for what was done. Not even a bitter taste of pain as their deaths ‘compensated’ for the thousands of dead in New York and the hundreds in D.C. One of them, maybe, Carter…

_No._

He didn’t allow himself to feel as the men were quickly and expertly identified, sighted, and dropped.

He trained the sniper rifle on the two men assigned to him with the cold determination of a man with a mission to accomplish, and he did the job they’d commissioned him to do.

Two shots, one through each skull.

There had been three others to do the job. Three men who he’d never met before and never wanted to meet again – especially not under such circumstances.

One of them didn’t make it back to the pickup point before the designated time. They left him behind.

They left him behind to rot in an Iraqi prison…

_No._

He didn’t allow himself to feel as the Captain in the helicraft gave the order for the pilot to start up the engine and get the hell out of what was no regarded as enemy territory.

Instead, Jack curled himself up in his corner, with his hands around the rifle that had been his weapon. Much less wieldy than the planes the terrorists had flown into buildings days ago, killing people just starting their working day… Businesspeople, commuters, tourists, analysts, researchers, advisors, scientists, Majors with blonde hair and blue eyes and a smile like a summer dawn and the ability to build a particle accelerator from the ground up…

_No._

He didn’t allow himself to feel as they flew through the night sky and arrived in the USAF base in Egypt.

His weapon was handed back in, and his duffel handed back to him. Then he climbed in another plane and flew through the night to reach New Jersey in the early morning hours.

The debriefing there was quick and unemotional. The ceremony for the medal similarly so.

Another man dead, another medal pinned on you. _C’est la vie._

He doesn’t allow himself to feel as he walks down the corridors of the base looking for the public phone.

He’s back in the USA, but he’s not home yet.

Soon.

Maybe.

If there’s still a home to go to.

The connection is made.

The phone begins to ring.

One ring. Two. Three. Four. Much more and the answering machine will kick in… Five rings. She’s not home. Six rings. Daniel hasn’t left a message. Seven rings. She mustn’t have come back.

Eight rings unanswered.

He doesn’t allow himself to feel as he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the perspex privacy shield.

### Dear God, I don’t believe in you and I never did, but…I’m begging you now…

The phone is picked up.

“Hello?”

Her voice floods through him and suddenly everything hurts again. It’s like a little dial in him has been turned from ‘numb’ to ‘full-strength emotion’. His eyes sting, his mouth is dry, his palms ache, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage.

God, it feels so _good_ to hurt again!

“Hello?”

He manages to croak her name, “Sam.”

The casual voice turns to concern: “Colonel? Where are you?”

“McGuire base, New Jersey.”

She knows better than to ask where he’s been. But her next words shake him, “When will you be home?”

Home.

How does she know that home is where she and the others are?

Perhaps because she feels the same way.

They all do.

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Next flight.” It’s not the answer she’s looking for, and he knows it, so he tries again. “Eight hours.”

Her voice isn’t quite the usual crisp tones as she offers, “If you want company when you get back, Colonel, I have Daniel and Teal’c camped out on my living room floor. You’re welcome to join us.”

No questions asked. No demands made. Just the offer of their friendship and companionship and the chance for him to be somewhere he belongs.

He’d have gone anyway, just to see her and reassure himself that she was home and not in some body bag in DC.

Having them all there, together, is merely a bonus.

He doesn’t want to be alone right now.

But all he tells her is: “Thanks.” His voice is rough with pent-up emotion. She’ll understand the answer for what it is. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hangs up and runs his hands through his hair, ruffling the brown-grey strands messily. He doesn’t care. He’s got a home to go to.

_Thank-you._

He’s going home.


End file.
